The Maze of Mirrors
by Ecardina
Summary: Christine is still with Erik.... Erik is still with Christine and Pip abandoned boy is slap bang in the middle. Daroga is planning to break it all up as usual and as usual Erik has a plan. But maybe not so pratical...Chapter 15 up! Leroux based
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Moon.

How long had it been?

As I stalked the lonely alley, I recollected our last parting. Tears were shed and promises made though none kept. She had promised to return to me with the ring, but no, she had yet to return. That wretched girl! Only could I die with her and her alone. I needed to see her again, those blue placid eyes filled with tranquil innocence. Only in those eyes could I feel peace. God, if you are there you truly have forsaken me! For only in her eyes could I find eternal rest! That ring, I feel she has thrown it in the gutter and gone off with her precious Comte. How it makes my blood boil! No, its had been months and still she hadn't returned to me. Months. I had expected to die within the week of our parting but from hatred a mustered strength. I could keep going till "time no longer" at this rate.

Silently, I made my way across a road, making sure my face was covered partially with the cloak. Of course, I had my mask on, though I was fairly tempted to leave it at home in the hopes a mob might just find me. That would be a painful death, enough for Christine to spend the rest of her miserable life weeping about. Ha. That would be justice on my part. Then again… revenge on Christine? Would I have the heart… of course I would! I told myself this over and over again till I came to a lonely alleyway. Standing in the darkness, fixing my felt hat I looked to the moon. It was not quite a full moon, but almost. I had always seen this as a sign of hope. The moon wanes and fades after the full moon, but with this moon there was still hope for better things and myself. Nonsense. There was no hope for "poor unhappy Erik".

I observed how empty the streets really were. It was dry, crisp and cloudy that night. Now and again I would hear a dog howling in the distance but besides that it was perfectly silent. The cobbles reflected the blue moon and small puddles seemed to reflect the rays. My golden eyes flickered now and again as I fought to keep my sanity. I have always had such problems. My mind now and again gets the better of me. Ha. To think I used to think myself as being in control. Now, all I could do was haunt Paris in a vain attempt to forget. Suddenly, I heard a scream. Another scream followed by a sound of a struggle. Unless my ears were lying to me, it sounded that of a young maiden. Erik was no hero, not like that silly Comte. Why risk my own neck? Yet, there was something very wrong about leaving without even investigating.

Indeed. There was something so familiar about the situation. Another cry, what was this…? Two males if I was correct in thinking so and one female. I could tell by the low grunt and laughs there were two men and the woman seemed to be crying aloud in some hope that someone might hear her pleas. Yes. Someone had heard.

I was as good as dead. I saw no reason why I shouldn't help this woman. I had always been disgusted by the treatment of woman by countless bastards. Abuse. Rape. Murder. They didn't deserve all that, only to suffer.

Silently, as quietly as possible, I ran down the alley and came to junction. Following the cries, I turned to the left and made my way down the dark alley, having only the moon as guidance. Coming to a clearing of sorts in the maze of lanes and alleys, I elegantly twirled by cloak and hid in the shadows as I watched the scene.

Two men, indeed I was correct, and one young woman. From the distance, I could only make out that she had fair-haired ringlets, now revealed as the taller and skinner of the two men ripped her bonnet off. The larger and stouter of the duo, took out a blade in a gleaming flash. The taller and younger man, grabbed the woman from behind and held her arms back, so she was in a lock, unable to escape.

"What we got here then?" said the larger man as he grinned.

"We got us a girl, we have!" said the younger one "Can I have her Jacque? Hmm?"

"Freddy, calm down, we can take turns. Yes mi boy, she certainly is a girl."

"A pretty one too!" cried the man known as "Freddy".

"She is, isn't she?"

The woman started to struggle but was abruptly stopped by the blade catching her throat. It lay lightly on her fair skin.

"Let me go." She hissed, there was something very familiar about that voice but I didn't prey on it.

"The mouse wants us to let go of her." Said the Jack.

"Well, she can't. She is too pretty to let go so easily."

"What will you do?" asked the girl. Bewildered eyes ready to learn her fate.

"Lets just say you'll be cold in the morning. We'll have our fun first."

The girl let out a sob as the Jack started to unbuckle his trousers. I was utterly revolted. I had to do something. The moon cast eerie blue light on the innocent child. She seemed almost ready for death, as if she had accepted her fate, but not quite.

There was suddenly a scream penetrated from Jack and a light whimper. There was a swish of metal tearing the air and a cry, the child was thrown across and hit her head off the wall, sliding down to a crumpled mess.

"That bitch bit me!" cried the grotesque man, buckling his trousers up as quickly as he had put them down. "She bit my hand!"

Wiping the blade on his trousers, he turned towards the woman; lying against the walls, fair ringlets were scattered, revealing her face. She seemed dead, yet in her blue eyes was a sparkle that seemed to slowly start to diminish. Yes I knew this woman. It was Christine.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Ring.

I was utterly horrified! I can't even begin to describe how, well, pissed off I was. For a start, the woman I loved, still love and always will love, had just had a near rape experience and I had done nothing, nothing at all to prevent it happening! One part of me, whom I was extremely ashamed of, told me to move on. "She deserves it. Look at what she has done to you. Leave her, move on…" But I couldn't! Not like this! As much as I was a monster I was going to be so, well, monstrous. I'd rather be beaten to mangled pulp than let them have her, whether she was Comtess or not.

Emerging from the shadows, blind with rage, I pulled from my cloak my Punjab lasso. Holding the noose with gloved hands, I moved towards the pair of fiends taking large strides. In no time I was behind the tall idiot who was bobbing his head like that of fowl. He must have felt my presence as he turned, mouth gaped. It didn't take long for me to quietly take him round the corner to deal with him… leaving the body, I made my way towards the stouter man, the one whom I decided to make suffer as much as possible. The ugly brute was making his way to Christine.

"You dirty whore! Look what you did, you're going tae pay for that, you will-"

But I made sure he didn't finish his offensive profane sentence. I had appeared to his side and as I looked into his wide watery eyes I saw my own reflection. How angry my eyes were. They shone through the eyeholes of the mask, flickering gold.

"Fuck! Who the hell are you?" he demanded, springing back.

I felt fairly tempted to say something dramatic along the lines of "Your worst nightmare." But instead, I decided to silence him. After all, this was no melodrama. Making sure Christine, who looked fairly unconscious, didn't see the murder take place, as I reckoned she had seen enough violence to damage her pure innocence, I dragged the brute round the corner were his friend has met his fate.

After a few minutes I returned round the corned to approach Christine. I was tempted to flee but even then I knew she wouldn't be safe. The world was a cruel place and only then did she taste it. Taste the bitterness, the corruption and cruelty. How I wanted to shield her from the world. It had been a mercy she survived. If she had died I would have died with her. As much as I hated her, as much as I wanted to leave her for dead I couldn't. I was so weak! I couldn't bring myself to leave her. Maybe she was already dead?

I took a few small paces towards her. She lay against the wall, her light blue skirts flowing in all directions while delicate lily-white hands lay limply at each side. Her head was almost tossed against the wall, looking upwards to the night's sky. The moon cast sweet rays on her darling face. Rose bud lips were opened, but only slightly. It was hard to tell if she was still breathing. Her hem hardly moved and I was scared I lost her. Love locks were laid on her breasts, and from what I saw, I could tell the brutes had ripped her lovely frock, revealing a little more of her chest which was expected from a lady. No matter, she still looked acceptable, even if she had been knocked about a little. God? Was this a joke?

I swept past her bonnet, which lay neglected on the cobbles. Moving towards her I could make out slight movement, much to my relief.

I observed with a heavy heart that her fingers were ring-less. No ring. Nothing. It surprised me but then again it was probable the fiends had taken the ring or it has been lost. I was now so close to her. I towered above her, looking down on her beauty. Kneeling, I took her tiny hand in my larger gloved hand and checked her pulse, trying my best to look at the situation from a medical and professional point of view. This was of course, very difficult to do as so many emotions stopped me from making the task a simple one.

As I looked closer I noticed a very fine chain around her neck. It held, much to my joy and relief the ring. Our ring. Not the Comte's ring. It was _my_ ring around her ivory neck. I forgave her all in an instant for her misconduct towards me. As much as I still felt bitter towards her I forgave her. I loved her. If she loved me, there was no need for her to say sorry. Loving someone means never needing to say sorry. Yet, it was early days and as I took her pulse I was already becoming too hopeful. No doubt the Comte was in his little carriage, waiting for her and my ring was simply kept because it looked nice… or something that simply mocked me. I dare say it flattered her. I was dead to her? Was I not? As soon as I took her somewhere safe, I could just leave her and be gone of her forever.

There was a flutter of lashes while lids opened. Her pleasant peaceful face suddenly screwed up in pain. Her brow furrowed whiles her lips (which I had noticed were stained with the blood of her victim. I really hadn't expected her to fight back, then again I had done nothing to help her) twisted. She had winced in pain before sighing and closing her eyes again. She took no notice of me, which I much approved of. Her face was now very pleasant again and as she opened her blue bewildered eyes, I noticed her put a small hand to her side. After her eyes adjusted, she looked at me in way I couldn't interpret and whispered "Erik?"

Nodding and indicating her to be silent I replied, "Yes." It was fine while she was unconscious but now my hatred returned to me. I had become tempted to leave her again. She tried to muster the energy to get up but as she was unable, I let her take my hand, though I felt very bitter about being so polite afterwards.

She seemed perfectly healthy. Getting up gracefully she stood for a minute or so, simply staring at me in silence. I was also reserved, looking into her bright eyes. The light breeze rippled my cloak as he ringlets were rocked to and fro. I believe we would have stared into each other's eyes forever had it not been for her suddenly staggering and grabbing her side. I was prepared for her to fall to her knees, but she stood wavering. There was something very, very wrong. Her eyes looked to me for some guidance, some reassurance. Lips moved, saying some inaudible plea for help by the looks of it. Eventually she caved in and fell forward. I moved towards to catch her, and as I held her in my arms I suddenly felt a pang of remorse for hating her so.

"Christine…" I saw quietly, shaking slightly. Lowering a hand to catch her hand, I felt something roll over my glove and fall to the ground with a "drip". Raising the hand to eye level I observed the metallic red. She was bleeding. On later examination I learned she had been stabbed. This was serious; she would have bleed to death if I had done nothing. Her lids were closed and her face grew pale. The rosy tint to her cheeks faded. Gently supporting her head, I picked her up in my arms. She was still very light. Pulling her closer to me, I looked for the quickest exit of this forsaken place. Making sure to watch out for the fresh corpses, encase there was any "misunderstandings", I took her to the safest place I had ever come know. The Opera House.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Labyrinth of The Heart

The journey to my home took little more than twenty minutes but it seemed to stretch on for hours. Christine was bleeding badly. I wasn't expecting her to last out but she did. Just. As much as she was light, after a while my muscles ached and screamed for me to let go, just give up, but not once did I obey.

Taking her down into the cellars proved rather difficult. As much as I was strong, my age prevented me from running around like I did in my earlier years… not to mention I wasn't good health. I had to run as fast I could down the many staircases, making my way through all the obstacles, the traps, the neglected corridors and caverns which made up the labyrinth of my Kingdom.

Crossing the lake, I filled my lungs with the cool still air as I rowed gently yet swiftly to the house. I focused on the bloodied body. Hoping, praying it wasn't too late. She was terribly still and so white. I comforted myself in watching her steady breathing. So silent and gentle, the hem of her dress made no movement. She was almost dead. Ripping my sleeve, I took the time to wrap her wound in hopes of clotting the blood flow. It didn't help and it cost me a good shirt, not that I was caring. I would have given all my riches to stop her bleeding.

Taking her into my house, everything all came back to me. Seeing the mess, I realised I must have had a tantrum earlier. The parchment was scattered, the chairs overturn… the only room that hadn't suffered from my hatred was Christine's room. I needed somewhere to operate, so I ran across, carrying the limp body as if she was a rag doll and laid her on the dinning room table. Quickly, I tore of my cloak and used it to support her head. Running to and fro I collected the necessaries and began to operate.

The strong smell of Chlorodyne made my eyes water as I worked. It took little time to drug her, stop the bleeding, wash, sew and bandage the wound. When all was finished I observed how much damage those monsters had done to her. One large bruise, which funnily enough came out as a hand mark, which started from her collar bone and down her chest. It was obvious she had been stabbed and the fiend threw her across, in which ended with her little head being knocked against the wall. The congealed blood on the back of her pretty little head proved all. If the knife had touched any of her vital organs I would have killed them a thousand times, but luckily it had just missed leaving a horrible gash. I sewed it up as best I could, praying there would be no scars. Now all I needed to do was wait.

It must have been hours I waited. I had taken her to her room, which was extremely neat, and laid her down on the bed, covering her with the sheets. She lay there in her neat nightgown, just as silent, just as pale as if she had been dead. I had bandaged her head a nicely as I could, her ringlets tossed underneath them. I had taken a chair to her bedside, resting myself as I watched in silent curiosity. She had hardly changed, except, I observed there were dark shadows under her eyes.

It was strange being there again. That room. I hadn't touched it since… but now I would wait for her. I hadn't touched the ring round her neck. She had promised never to remove it from her finger, but then, she wore it like a widow does. Trying my best to ignore it, I wait some hours simply thinking.

Why had Christine been alone at night, unescorted my a gentlemen? Why had she my ring and not the Comte's? Where was that silly Comte, who had promised to keep her safe? Why on earth was I there, still with her? I was pathetic enough to still love her and it drove me mad.

After some time I realised she was going to wake up for some time. Looking at my tattered shirt and bloodied hands, I knew I wasn't presentable for her waking, nor was the rest of the house. Exiting the room, leaving her still and in deep sleep, I went about removing the bloodied rags from the table and clearing away the scattered parchment. After tidying away the mess and changing to look presentable, I rested myself down on an armchair by the fire. All the worries left me silently and swiftly as sweet dreams came, caressing all the pain of my life so far, taking it all away. When one has suffered as I have, they wait only for sleep. Even in nightmares there is peace.

I was rudely awoken by a piercing scream coming from my guest's room, and presumably the guest. Springing to my feet, I sprinted to her room and swung the door open. I followed the trail of sheets to a corner where the girl was squatting in her nightgown. She was obviously hallucinating as her eyes wandered in a crazed way, not once did those eyes follow me. She had removed the bandages from her head and done some damage, as there were blood smears on the walls. As soon as she saw me, she let out another scream that did me more damage to me than it did to her. I couldn't see why she was screaming. After all, I had forgotten to remove my mask that night (and my face was aching) so I wasn't without a mask.

"Christine." I said lightly, trying to approach her in a non-aggressive manner. "Now… calm down. What ever is the matter?" She didn't look at me; instead she turned to the wall and struck her head across it. This was getting beyond a joke. Running to her, and grabbing her wrists, I dragged her to the centre of the room, kicking and screaming. It was the only way to stop her damaging herself.

She didn't exactly seem grateful for me saving her life, but I knew she couldn't help it. I had obviously drugged her too much. I hadn't expected her to wake so early; after all, I had given her enough to sleep round the clock. Christine started to calm down. I held her close, as best as I could to stop the horrid shrieking. She had sounded like a hare in pain.

"Now. Christine." I took a handkerchief from my pocket, which happened to be her own which I had kept, and rubbed the blood from her forehead. "Will you stay still to let me put on your bandages? Erik only wants you to get better."

With the mention of my name, the woman started her shrieking and consequently started crying "The devil has me!" repeatedly while I tried to keep her under control.

Having no access to my supply of Chlorodyne, I did the only thing I could to put her out of her pain. I flicked my finger behind her ear and she suddenly went limp. Picking her up, and taking her to the bed, I started to clear the bloodied forehead and started applying the bandages.

It felt just like a repeat. Everything was simply of a repeat. The Comte and the Daroga would soon be strolling in here demanding Christine back. It was all too much to take. Leaving her, sprawled across the bed, I made my way to my organ.

Sitting down on my stool, I removed my mask. Taking the bloodied handkerchief to my lips, I let out a crackling laugh, which racketed my poor ribs and left me grimacing at the specs of now new blood, sinking into the handkerchief. It was only a matter of time now. I had expected to die weeks ago. Now death was gaining on me.

Love was so complicated. Now, for once in my life I realised how cruel it really was. The heart was complicated, and as I played out all my constant fears, my pains my worries I thought of how to win Christine. If indeed, she wasn't married… if she had come looking for me, then there was maybe a chance. It was silly, of course, more than silly, stupid, to think that… but it was what gave me a chance. God had meant for me to die, instead I was given a second chance. Maybe my constant torment might end with her and only her. I could only hope as much.

As my fingers glided gracefully with ease across the many keys, I spent hours simply playing and playing in an ecstasy of broken dreams and shattered fantasies, which I had begun to pick up the pieces and start again. I wanted so badly to know what Christine would be like when she woke up. I wanted to know what had really happened that night.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The music abruptly finished as a small hand was laid on my shoulder. A hand leapt to my bare face as I tried to hide my accursed ugliness. An alien hand laid itself on my shoulder. Alien yet familiar. A small "Erik." Whispered in my ear, so sweet, so light. Christine had awoken.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The importance of an Ostrich Egg

As my fingers searched blindly for my mask, I felt my hatred break out like that of a rash, angry, consuming and paining me. In little more than thirty seconds, I felt the female presence draw back in fear as I boiled over. Grabbing the mask from a side table there came a crash that echoed and echoed and to this day, still won't go away…

There on the floor. There on my cold stone floor, lay the fragments of a frail and precious Ostrich egg. It was my mother's… my poor unhappy mother. How I miss her so… and how she hated me. Hated me for what I was to her… a disgrace, a disappointment… a monster. And as I loved her, I hated her also. Hated her for never loving me. Hated her because… oh… my poor unhappy mother.

As the memories washed over me I watched in silent horror as Christine knelt down to pick up the pieces. "No." I said quietly. "Let it be…" I watched her rise and take a few steps back in puzzled sympathy. She couldn't understand what it meant to me. No… after all it was not the egg that truly mattered. It was the memories attached to it.

"Erik." She said so sweetly that it drifted to me like a fragrance. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you so."

Poor child, and there I was, the wretch who was near to killing her only minutes past. I wanted to tell her it was all right, it didn't matter, it wasn't' special anyway… but those would be lies. Terrible lies. It mattered a great deal to me and in my hatred I had destroyed something precious… and then the memories devoured me.

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A small boy perched on a stool watched in curious fascination as a young woman began polishing a rounded object. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she finished her task and placed it neatly on the shelf. The child watched it with golden eyes, wondering what treasures it held inside.

"Mother." He chirruped as he watched her turn her fair face to his masked one.

"Yes." She said quietly as she looked to the boy and to the round egg sitting proudly in place.

"What is that?" he pointed over to the object which his mother had finished cleaning and presented proudly on a wooden frame, which held it up for all to see.

"That is an ostrich egg. It was my father's." she remarked whilst returning to her work and started cleaning a mother of pearl ship.

"Can I hold it?" he asked, looking up with wide eyes in hopes she might allow him that privilege.

"No." she said lightly, polishing the sails "You may not."

"Why?" he chirped, playing with his dark hair.

"Because" –she placed the boat on the mantle- "It is very dear to me."

"Why?" he repeated with as much curiosity.

"It is very precious to me, child, you wouldn't break it…"

"Would it make mother sad?" the child asked again, looking up to his weak mother. He knew too well she was scared of him. Scared of what lay behind the mask. He knew how easy it was to manipulate her, drive her to insanity with a simple smile or movement of hand. She would circum to his wants and let him touch the egg as he pleased, sooner or later.

"Very." She said looking at the egg again.

Realising this would hurt his mother he decided it was best to leave it, maybe then he could be called a 'good boy' and win his mother's affections.

"I won't touch it." He said, tugging at his collar. "I won't touch it because it would make mother sad."

The young woman looked to the child with a puzzled frown. She couldn't decide whether to smile or simply scowl. The boy understood and sat on his stool, tugging at his shirt. He loved Friday evenings. Father was away on business for the weekend. It was just mother for a few days. He hardly saw father, mother did her best to hide the boy from him… fearing.

"Mother." He chirped again, watching her with his curiously fascinated eyes.

"Yes?" she replied, sweeping the ashes from the fireplace.

"Can I embrace you?" he asked, watching as she dropped the brush and pan.

"Who taught you that word?" she asked, fearing what would come next.

"Well madam-"

"No." she said, picking up the brush again, her hands shaking.

"Why not? Other little boy's do."

"Don't…"

"But mama, papa embraces you and kisses you on the cheek. Why can't I?"

"How did you-"

"Lots of people kiss each other when they greet others. Why am I not allowed to?"

"You shan't…"

"But why!" The boy jumped off his stool, and looked to his mother, who remained rooted to the spot. He tore off his mask and watched as her face slowly drained of colour.

"What ever is the matter mother?" he asked as she turned her face in disgust.

She chose not to answer.

"May I kiss you on the cheek." He drew in closer, dropping his fabric mask on the floor.

"No!" she cried as she backed up into a corner, crying.

"But mother what ever is the matter?" he asked, still not understanding the full hideousness of his face. "Are you ill? Should I call madam… why do you cry so? I only want to kiss you on the cheek. Just once. You never kiss me."

Still, she cried. Tears streamed down her rose tinted cheeks as she hid her eyes with her dark locks. "No… no…" she wept.

"Mother!" said the boy becoming angry. "You do not love me."

She continued to weep. "No… you wretched beast. I hate you… I hate you… you ugly creature, leave me now."

The child, far too young to understand what pain it caused his mother to see his face, watched as she crawled over to the mask, throwing it at him and crying "Put it on- put it on!"

The child refused to do so, and in his anger he reached for the egg on the frame, on tiptoes he grabbed. The mother watched in horror as he cried:

"You do not love me! You don't! You hate me! But I love you mother. I do. I do. But still you hate me! Why am I not allowed to see papa! Why do I have to wear that horrid mask! Why do I have no name, why do you only call me "It" and "Thing"? Why! And why, why don't you kiss me and tell me how much you love me like other mother's do. Why can't I kiss you! Why! Why! Why!"

And he continued questioning the young woman, not much older than twenty and five years. She watched as the six year old wept, screamed and questioned her, holding the egg up high.

"…I hope it breaks mother!" he cried as he threw the egg down on the carpet. He watched the intact egg roll over the Indian carpet and hit her slipper with a small "thud". The boy ran in a cat like manner to the door and as she wept she heard the small heavy footsteps running up the stairs and the slamming of a door.

"That thing… that thing…" she wept, "That thing is my son…"

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I found myself standing, struck dumb, staring at the egg. All that pain, all that anger festering in my childhood… It had to be gone! I had hidden it for the last forty-six years! I wasn't going to let it defeat me now. I stamped down the past, my foot crushing the shell. A shell! She cared more for an object that me! A boy. Her son. She cared more for the prettier object. The egg couldn't speak out. It was cold and hollow… just like. Just like her. Out of reach. Always out of reach, beautiful and distant. It wasn't fair!

I crushed that egg. I crushed it under my foot. And I knew Christine was watching. I knew she was upset by my actions, but I needed to do it anyway. Nothing was stopping me. I removed my foot and grimaced.

"It was only an egg. It was only a simple a shell, a shell my dear. I take it you know what shell is? Hollow. Cold. I never really have been fond of eggs much, not the ornamental kinds that hold nothing in them. Just for show. Pretty and just for show."

She was silent, still staring at the remains of the shell. Hollow shell.

"You have woken then, my dear." I said turning to her, fixing my mask in place. She was still very pale. She had taken a shawl from her dresser and was wrapping herself with it. She really was pale.

"Yes…" she muttered, looking confused "Erik?" said she "Where am I?"

"Why… do you not know my dear? We are in my house, that is where." I didn't like how casual this conversation was going, nor did I like the look on her face. Her eyes kept flickering and now and again she would put a foot behind her to steady herself as if she might fall. Her balance wasn't healthy that day.

"Yes… I mean. Was I dreaming?" she asked.

"Well, I may be right in thinking most people dream but I couldn't tell you if you were dreaming. Dreams are for fools, are they not? I know many consider themselves fools but I do wonder if I could consider myself one. I suppose it is possible… are you listening my dear? Why you look so very pale. Are you wondering about the bandages on your head? Yes I'm sad to inform you it was no dream… last night was very real indeed."

It took her a while to absorb the information in and then she looked at me with such gratitude that I did wonder if this was indeed a dream.

"You saved me." She said, as if she had just come to a realisation.

"Well, I dare say I might have… considering. But I think you probably saved yourself."

"You saved me." She repeated, still looking at me with wide glassy eyes.

I couldn't bring myself to answer that, so I turned to my organ and fiddled with the keys. I knew she was still watching me. I could feel her sweet gaze. I turned rather solemn and asked her how she had been keeping.

"Well." She replied.

"I expect the wedding was good. Lots of relatives, hmm?" I said as I fiddled with the F minor.

She fell silent. "There was no wedding."

"But I had expected you to be married by now." I replied. "That is, as soon as you returned the ring."

I turned to look at her and found her head slightly tilted downwards. Her eyes filled with tears. Good, I had thought. Good. She felt guilt.

"Why did the Comte not escort you last night?"

"I was on my way to Mama Valérius."

I nodded. She was purposely tiptoeing round the Comte subject. She didn't want to talk, not right now. I was rather surprised how well she was taking this. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the Chlorodyne, but she was obviously grateful. There was no need for an awkward "Thank you" just seeing her look at me that way was enough.

She wasn't ready to talk yet… well damn, she had only woken up from a life threatening experience but I wasn't in the mood to pity her. After all, I was the one left there to rot. I wanted to know the truth.

I was surprised she didn't even ask me why I did it. The answer would have taken some time though. I couldn't explain it myself. Why did I save her? Oh, yes, I loved her. Well I had decided not to tell her that anytime soon. Still, those eyes… so much for getting Christine Daae out of my system. She was rooted, rooted to my heart.

"You should rest my dear…" And as I turned I found her making her way back to her room. Was it something I had said? Ah, of course the Comte.

We spoke very little that day. She didn't want to talk at all. Christine would allow me into her room to offer her some food or some wine, which I am very fond of, but she refused everything except a glass of water.

It seemed I wasn't the only one who was still recovering from that night which changed everything. It had seemed so long ago but in fact it had been only a matter of weeks. She refused to talk of it, even when I mentioned a few things and I was getting quite close to knocking her out again. But she was harmless. She was having more difficulty moving around than in the morning and I would often walk in to find her sleeping the experience off.

I didn't know how badly it had really affected her till some time later.

I wanted the questions to be answered, but I had to be patient. I spent most of the day sipping wine and scribbling on a piece of parchment. All inspiration had left with Christine, but now that she was back… it was all so different.

Everything was cold. Everything was dead. The future looked bleak for us. "Us".


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks the reviews and advice guys! Here is the next chapter. Warning: this chapter switches between Christine and Erik just encase you get confused.**_

"_**Without the mask where will you hide?**_

_**Can't find yourself lost in your lie."**_

_**Evanescence Everybody's Fool**_

Chapter Five: Erik and Christine

How long had I been there? It must have been at least a week, possibly two? It wasn't easy to tell. There was no clock in my chamber… in fact; I doubted there was any working clocks in the house at all. I knew for a fact Erik carried a simple golden with pocket watch, as for the rest of the house, I was sure Erik had stopped the clocks on purpose... probably timing his death... how he meant it to end. He had his quirks; it didn't take long for you to work that out. Though understanding them was a tad difficult.

For the first few days I was dazed and rather confused. I didn't even question why I was here in Erik's house; I simply considered it to be something that had always come to be. I can't even remember saying anything to him for the first week; all I remember was the smell of death and the cloth pressed to my noise, the strong Chlorodyne making my eyes water. I suppose it helped him, considering he had to go shopping for supplies. I couldn't run off if I was drugged. I never even considered escaping; I was only a prisoner to my weak body.

Erik had saved me. In a way I was angered he did so. I had been ready to die. I didn't know what I felt for Erik. As much as I feared him I was strangely delighted when I realised he was living. He saved me! I was so terribly grateful, yet I couldn't show my gratitude. I was never good at showing my feelings. I tend to keep them bottled up were they are safe and can't do harm to others. Now and again there is a leak but in the long run it is safer. I didn't know how to separate my fear from Erik and my feeling for him… but what of these feelings?

Erik was alive. How I had feared to return alone. I couldn't. It was such a shameful thing to do… leaving him for dead. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bury that cold body on my own and lay him to rest with the ring by the well…. Yes, I had truly wanted to die that night. Those men would have killed me. It would be done and the suffering… the guilt. All gone. That had been the plan but then… it was all washed away. He was alive! And it dreaded me yet filled me with unexplainable feelings. But as soon as I tried to work out these feelings, _he_ would come to mind.

Raoul.

I loved him. I truly loved that dear boy. Ever since childhood we had been close friend. Yes. I loved him; with all my heart I loved him. It was so cruel. To be split up because we were so different yet so alike. But we shared a good part of our lives together. We both knew deep down it could never be. But I had the memories… yet where was Raoul? If only I could have told him… "I'm sorry."

I would fall in and out of sleep, hallucinations. My chamber would fade away leaving me resting in a sea of green, the wind moving through the grass creating emerald waves as I bathed in the golden rays, watching the moths fly in and out the hearth. Father would take his violin and play an old Scandinavian lullaby while we looked out to the sea, the foam riding the waves and falling into the dark waters, cast on the shores and pulled in to repeat the process.

Then suddenly I would simply be with Erik. Sitting by the fire in the Louis-Philippe room listening to him rave about silly things, little things I remembered. I remember listening to him talking of his particulars of silver ware, which I found a rather amusing and an interesting subject.

But then I would wake up, in pain. I would simply lie for hours taking in the familiar surroundings. All very plain and well furnished. I had always been surprised at how ordinary my room was. You wouldn't expect it to be underground, of course there was no window but other than that it was perfectly ordinary. Next to my bed was a simple side table and at the far side of the room was a dresser. Near my bed was a chair, which Erik would sit himself down when, trying to talk to me, though I believe I was rather anti-social and said very little to him. It was very plain, no paintings. Nothing. But I did like it. It seemed like home.

XXX

I had accomplished very little the first week of her stay. She was hallucinating now and again. To my relief there was never any mention of the Comte but there seemed to be something bitter, even to Christine, about the Comte. I was half surprised that the Daroga hadn't run in demanding back Miss Daae. She really did hallucinate quite a bit… she would have conversations to herself or with some imaginary presence and she became more talkative with them than myself. She was terribly anti-social and hardly even participated in any of my conversations, that is when she was well. There was one occasion where I even heard her hallucinating.

I had been cleaning up the mess that Daroga and that wretched Comte had made in my torture chamber. Sweeping up the shards of mirror and planning how to replace the glass panels I heard her call my name. Thinking she was in need of something, I dropped my pan and brush and made my way to her room. On opening the door I asked her what she desired but she didn't answer. I repeated my question and found she had her eyes closed. Taking a seat by her bedside, I listened to her for a good part on an hour.

She seemed perfectly at ease, muttering things in her sleep. Now and again her blue eyes would open and stare into space, still muttering. She even came close to getting up in her hallucination, but she was to weak to move and ended up playing with her nightgown for ten minutes.

She was having a conversation to her father I believe. She would now and again mutter "Papa" or "Father, when are we going to France?"

Now and again I couldn't make out what she was saying at all. She switched from speaking Swedish to French. I had been under the impression that Christine knew very little Swedish having left her home country at a young age but she was muttering fluently from what I could make out.

When she was awake she hardly spoke at all. I found most of my conversations were through her hallucinations. She would even have a conversation with me sometimes in her sleep, believing it was some months past when I asked her the date.

It was curious, but I found myself learning a great deal about her from those hallucinations. Of course, I should have been tearing my hair out in worry but she was healing well and there was little to be done for the hallucinations. I couldn't let her feel the pain of her wounds. It would be too cruel and would have caused more fuss and worry. I found drugging her rather agreeable.

She completely refused to speak of the Comte at all, which I disapproved of greatly, as I was starting to grow curious to know if I was nursing back to health a woman spoken for or not. I hadn't saved her to refuse to talk to me, but there was really nothing to be done. I found myself getting so frustrated I would leave the room and return to my organ. I don't think she noticed though… she was too busy talking to her memories.

I did leave her on one occasion, for a very short time to buy some supplies, as I knew too well I had to feed her on something. Refusing food simply made her weak so I went out in search of something she might enjoy. I have always been fond of good food and good wine of the best quality, though I can't say I indulged myself too much in food. I never feel the need for gluttony. In fact, I thought a world without food would be a splendid one.

Having informed her of my leaving, I locked her door and set out to buy the necessaries. I returned in an hour's time to hear her shouting. Leaving the bags on the table I rushed to her room and unlocked the door. I found her lying in bed simply muttering about how much she disliked "milking Iza" which left me puzzled for the remainder of the day as well as amused.

XXX

Erik tried to make me eat. "It's the only way you shall get better my dear." He said as he tried his best to prop me up into a sitting position. I tried to protest but I found myself babbling and stopped myself from further embarrassment. Erik had gone and bought me so many nice things in hopes I should get better with them. I simply refused to eat but I found Erik spoon feeing me soup while muttering how good a child I was.

I suppose I really was acting like a child. Erik was doing his best to make me better. I was perfectly capable of making my way to the bathroom to refresh myself but afterwards I'd find myself sprawled on the bed, exhausted and very near to fainting and on more than on occasion I had done so. Now and again Erik would come to my room in an attempt to tell me a story to keep me occupied but at the end, tears of frustration and exhaustion would roll down my pale cheeks. Erik would apologise for being such a "bore" and would tuck me in, switching off the light. I didn't _want_ to be alone but I simply couldn't stop myself. I was so weak.

Erik did come in one evening (or so I believe it was as he said "Good evening") and decided to attempt to check my injuries, setting the familiar bottle and cloth on the bedside table…

I put up quite a protest saying they were perfectly fine and he shouldn't touch them, but he ignored me and went ahead. _His mask_ I had thought _what a silly thing to wear._

I even tried to unmask him. I don't know what possessed me to do it but I soon found myself clawing at the black mask, which lead Erik to restraining me.

"Christine." He said sharply as he held my little wrists tightly in his pale skeletal like hands "What on earth are you doing?"

I can't quite remember what I said to him but it was something along the lines of

"Why it is a woman's curiosity! Do take it off."

Erik, who had heard something similar to this before replied coldly that he didn't like curious woman and that if I simply didn't take off the mask while he was tending to my head injuries, he promised he wouldn't drug me.

"Take it off." I said giggling as I reached out for it... All I remember after that was having my hands forced by my sides and a great foul smelling cloth was pressed to my nose. It smelt of death… then all went black.

XXX

She had tried to take off my mask at one point. Without the mask I was simply a monster, I couldn't scar that child again… not with my face. The mask made me something else. I even drugged her to prevent her from seeing me… this wretched face. Never again would I allow her to see my hidious deformity. Of course, the wound was healing well; it looked like there might be a chance of no scars at all. I knew she wasn't thinking straight. Christine was very child like, babbling on about little things and asking me odd questions.

"Erik." She had said while I checked her pulse. Luckily it was normal.

"Yes?" I asked as I laid her delicate hand gently by her side. Today her hair was quite a mess and rather tangled. I felt fairly inclined to comb it. Such beautiful locks are hers couldn't be messed. They should be shinning and in delicate rows of ringlets. I have always loved her flaxen hair. Beautiful.

"Why?" she said lightly as she looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes were flickering now and again and as I leaned over to check that she wasn't hallucinating she suddenly recoiled at my touch. It seemed the old Christine was coming back after all…

"Why do you have a door? Such a strange thing to have in a house."

I couldn't help but laugh. It was the way she said it. It wasn't that I wasn't concerned, god I was really worried for her but she would pick something very ordinary and act as if it was alien to her.

"Why do you laugh so? I simply can't understand the purpose of a door. Why a piece of wood… also, why do you have walls? They aren't in fashion you know."

I couldn't help it. I burst out into a hissing laugh that soon turned to a chesty cough. I deserved the pain for being so cruel at laughing at an ill woman. I had to lift the mask slightly to cough into my familiar handkerchief. I knew Christine was watching, though I couldn't tell if she was concerned or simply amused. After my fit of coughing I felt considerably weaker and the foul taste of blood was filling my mouth.

I got up, grabbing my chest, which was searing with pain, like I was the one who had been stabbed. I straightened myself and carefully made my way to the bathroom, leaving Christine to her own devices. Picking up an ivory comb on the tiled surface I looked into the mirror. Even with the mask on I could tell my poor health was getting the worst of me. My golden eyes were blood shot and my forehead was a waxy white. I had lost some hair as well, probably from the stress. Not that I had much left, just a few black locks at each side. Even for me, I looked worse than what I was. My health had always been rude, choosing its moments.

Leaving the bathroom I made my way to the bed and sat myself down next to Christine. She looked at me with wide placid eyes and asked me another fairly amusing question.

"Do all French men wear masks?"

As I chuckled, I made her stay still while I combed out her locks. Each ringlet of gold seemed to reflect the artificial light and as she bobbed her head now and again, humming something as the light reflected and danced on her hair.

I was overjoyed to get this close to her… although she wasn't in good health and most of the time highly drugged, she didn't recoil from my touch (well not when she was drugged) nor did she protest when I feed her or read to her. It was like a wonderful dream… though I knew it wasn't right, though I wanted it to last forever. It wouldn't last long. These things never did… not for me…

XXX

I was feeling much better all because of Erik. He nursed me so well, so delicately, considerately and with such kindness. I don't remember much of the ordeal, which he had to deal with, my hallucinations etc. but he handled it with such grace. He really did care for me.

The morning I woke up, feeling much better, I decided to go to the bathroom to have a wash. Of course, it wasn't easy getting out of bed at first but I was able to make it to the bathroom. The bathroom was very much like my room in the way it was furnished, down to earth, simple and rather ordinary but I did like it. I refreshed myself and washed my hair, which in my opinion needed doing.

Making my way out of the bathroom I could hear Erik playing away at his organ. He seemed rather frustrated as he kept hitting the wrong keys and now and again an object would be heard, being thrown across his chamber. I hurried to change myself encase Erik decided to check on me, only to find myself less than descant.

I hadn't checked my wounds, though I did take off the bandages from my head to wash my hair. Choosing a sky blue frock, I changed as quickly as I could, though I was feeling rather dizzy, and decided to make my bed. Eventually, after the tasks were done, I sat myself on my bed, drying my hair with a towel.

I was startled by a large "thud" of some heavy object and suddenly my door opened, revealing a rather frustrated looking Erik. He was more shocked at seeing me than I was of seeing him. We both stared at each other for a considerable amount of time till I broke the silence.

"Good morning."

The two simple words made him jump into action and he apologised for coming into my bedchamber, though he did remark he hadn't expected to find myself up and about.

"That's quite alright." I said nervously as I folded the towel and placed it on my lap. He did seem quite shocked, almost dissapointed to see me so well. It took him a few minutes before he entered the room, looking around and he even opened the bathroom door, which I thought was quite peculiar, even for Erik. It was as if he was expecting something or someone to be hiding.

I watched him look around the room. It made me dizzy watching him, so energetically moving around, that I put a hand to my brow. He had obviously seen me do this as he stopped his search and came closer to me. I hadn't noticed how really close he was to me till I found myself staring into his golden eyes, blood shot and angry. I let out a small cry, but he ignored this, grabbing my wrist and taking my pulse.

"You should be resting." He countered as he watched me with yellow eyes.

"No, I'm fine, really." I protested. He let go of my hand and sat himself on the chair.

"You should be resting." He repeated coolly. I became quite frightened. _Did he mean to keep me here?_ I had thought.

"I am fine." I said slowly and lightly.

"You will have breakfast." He ordered, still staring. He seemed to have become so dominate that I found myself nodding out of fear.

He rose and left the room without saying a word, leaving me to finger the ring. Cold to the touch, simple to the eye but it was special to me, almost sacred. The ring had its meaning.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Forsaken Again

"_**Keep on looking through the window again  
But I'm not sorry if I do insult you  
I'm sad not sorry 'bout the way that things went  
And you'll be happy and I'll be forsaken thee  
I swore I'd never feel like this again  
But you're so selfish  
You don't see what you're doing to me"**_

_**Not Sorry The Cranberries**_

It was a mixed blessing that Christine had recovered. Too soon in my opinion… I had even felt tempted to drug her simply to be able to experience her again, enjoy her…

I enjoyed everything about her while she was too ill to protest, too weak to cry out or hide her shame. I enjoyed her female presence, her innocence. I enjoyed her every waking moment when her lashes fluttered and wide placid eyes would rest on my own. I enjoyed her very essence. I enjoyed her sweet pleasant features. I even enjoyed her faults, her selfish child like behaviour and her incapability to show any maturity what so ever. I loved everything about her… but suddenly the dream ended. All I had hoped for, everything I had come to love was gone and there before me was a woman. The woman I loathed, the woman I hated and cursed. That creature had let me hold her in my trembling arms by the well, knowing her true beauty. She had let me wash her brow with my tears of joy and later my tears of sorrow. That face had haunted me so and left me to die…

I hated her. I hated every single thing about her that made me love her… but I was too weak. I loved her. I truly loved her… everything. I loved her whole. She had killed my soul and now she resurrected me, only to take from me all I had gained.

I had cooked breakfast that morn. I was capable of cooking, quite well actually. One teaches themselves these things… when no one else cares for you and your human needs. I can't recall what we had. I was more occupied on Christine, trying to bring myself to hating her. Trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do.

We sat down in the dining room and as I stared at her from across the table I found myself burning. Burning with hatred. Was it the way she sat there unsuspecting and terribly innocent? Or was it the way she ignored it all? I couldn't quite tell.

She was still very pale and having some difficulty feeding herself properly. I observed her set down the spoon in frustration and let out a sigh. I wasn't in the mood to help her… I had even thought it possible for her to get weaker if I didn't. Then she could feel the pain she had inflicted on me, thrashing at my heart.

We sat in silence, neither one of us eating. After a while I gave up my attempts to anger her and simply started bullying her. It made everything easier, everything easier for me.

When noon had arrived I found myself sitting down on an overstuffed armchair while trying to get through my book collection. My guest of honour was opposite me, wrapped in a navy blanket. Her beautiful locks were dry by this time and I found myself rather impressed by how long her hair really was. Well past her shoulders in waves of light flaxen. It's rather silly trying to describe why I had a sudden interest in her hair. I suppose it was my lack of it which made me the more fascinated in hers. She was very pale, and no wonder. All I had done while we breakfasted was scorn her. Throwing insults now and again which she accepted with as much grace as she could possibly take under the situation. I knew she wasn't capable of retaliating. It wasn't in her. She was simply too weak at the time being and it simply wasn't in her nature to be so cruel.

I don't know what had set me off. She was slightly better that day and suddenly I hated her. I hated her for being better. Was it the fact that now I couldn't be close to her? Was it that now I couldn't protect her or love her? Was it that she couldn't accept me now while she was so sober or was it that I hated her for leaving me? Leaving me to die. There was a tale behind it all but she continued to refuse telling it which angered me more.

What had become of the Comte? If no other questions were answered I wished her to answer that one. I even stated my want for an answer.

"Do tell me, Christine…" I said as I flicked through the pages, caring not to look up "…What has become of the Comte de Changy?"

There came no answer and whilst I looked up I could make out tears in her solemn face. How pale she was, like the moon was her face. So ghastly white and like the stars were her eyes. Twinkling with tears as she wiped them away like a child punished for the wrong it had done. She wringed her hands, even under the blanket I could see that movement and I watched as her bottom lip stuck out, only a little mind you, as if she might start sobbing. But she did not. She was silent with tears. I felt no remorse for making her cry and continued the conversation on my own.

"Why so silent? I had thought it…" but I stopped myself before doing any greatly damage. She was still ill. I had been so selfish and so cruel to the child, so caught up in my wrong that I had completely forgotten about her blasted health and her silly nerves. I loved her dearly yet I was so irritated that I found myself scolding her for being so ill in the first place. I had brought her there, my house on the lake, in the first place. I was her host and almost a guardian of sorts. I watched over her like a caring angel in hopes that she might take to me… such silly feelings. I still felt the need to impress her, to win her over even if there was no other suitor to take her heart from me.

If there was a way to impress a Lady, I knew it.

"Oh Erik… that really is very impressive."

I had, of course, shown her my card tricks. You see, it isn't too difficult to amuse Christine. It seems I can do just about anything with my deceiving hands and she takes it for a brilliant illusion. I could see her pale face brightening as she looked over to the cards running to and fro my hands. I was leaning a little towards her as I showed her how to make them vanish (into my pocket of course) into thin air. I believe my guest did her best to clap but instead nodded as it took up less energy. She was capable of grooming herself and walking around the house but she wasn't exactly capable of doing much else, to my delight. I was still needed!

Seems silly, but I would have done anything for her and I wanted to do everything and anything for her! She was the world to me and as much as I hated her for treating me so cruelly I couldn't bear to describe what would happen if she died of want for something that I could give her. I was truly devoted to her.

When you are in love, blind with love, you'd do just about anything to make sure the one whom you love is happy. Even if this relies on you sacrificing your own happiness.

Putting down my old tattered book on a pile of other neglected novels, I watched as the young woman looked through an old picture book I had collected on my travels to Persia. Arabian Nights, I believe, in a language that neither Christine nor I could read. Of course, I bought it for some reason or other, believing it's picture's to be an inspiration. After all, I am an artist in my own line and such things interest me greatly. Christine of course was enjoying the pictures of sultans and harems greatly.

I must have watched her for some time before she detected me and found me out. I refused to apologise for my wrong towards her. I had wronged her, yet I couldn't make out why. Good and bad has its exceptions. If you kill someone for self-defence it isn't wrong at all… if you harm someone in case they harm you in the future, could it be counted as wrong? But I did become slightly kinder to her and began to soften to the child. She meant no harm.

I was about to make a comment on the origin of the book went we both heard something coming from outside. I can't say who first made out the gentle thud as the boat hit the waters, nor who first heard the bell ring. I jumped to my feet and quickly brought out the Punjab lasso, much to Christine's horror. It seems the very sight of the rope brought back memories of that horrid night not so long ago.

It happened all so suddenly that before I could make my way from Christine, a rather plump dark skinned man entered the sitting room. Both of us were taken aback by the sight not to mention the familiar face that examined us with distaste.

"Erik." He said rather shrilly as his wonderful dark eyes flickered slightly at the scene.

"Daroga." I replied as coolly as possible. Remembering myself, I hastily made the lasso vanish as I had done with the cards, and sat myself down again taking in the scent of the crisp dry pages of literature and the crackling fire.

"So nice to see you again." I said as best as I could, trying my best not to be so surprised. It's a blessing I was wearing a mask of he may have seen my dazed expression. I couldn't help but fear that the Comte would suddenly enter my house in search of Christine, but I saw from the Daroga's expression that this wasn't the case. "I take it you have come on important business… I never knew you to dress so formerly. Entirely in black, how queer."

With this comment he brushed down his dark smoking jacket. "Miss Daae." She nodded in reply. "You are… alive." He said rather taken aback, pointing a dark finger towards me as if I had committed some great crime.

"Well, I dare say I am but if you care to check I wouldn't think it so strange for me to be a ghost. After all, I was a rather good one."

This comment drained him of his colour but after a coughing fit he regained it. He seemed almost as ill as myself. He must have expected to pay his respects, and although I was alive I think it was Christine's presence, which startled him so.

"Miss Daae… I thought you to be, with the Comte." Said The Persian as he played with his cuff rings. Really, that Daroga really did have rather nice cuff rings. I had never commented on them but I really did admire his taste. Simple and tasteful. I do like simplicity.

"Yes. Well as you can see, I am not." With these words, both the Daroga and myself were rather taken aback. She almost seemed offended and took it upon herself to hide her face in the blanket, smothering her fears in the cloth.

"Well…I…" stuttered that infernal and dear booby as he looked for the nearest exit.

"Come again." I said rather amused at his eagerness to leave. He made a formal bow and with this left as soon as he possibly could. We heard the click of the door as it closed and the rowing and occasional gurgle of the icy waters.

The very hasty arrival and abrupt departure of the Daroga left both guest and host a little miffed. Christine was rather silent, her pale blue eyes staring into space. I was trying to work it all out. He had come expecting a funeral. He had received a host.

"Would you care for a game of dominos?" I said as I took a small wooden box from a nearby shelf and presented it to the rather surprised looking Christine.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: In the Moonlight.

And from the grim solemn darkness flourished sweet smiles. I had raised her from her depression and brought her to a world of fantasy where anything was possible except reality. I entertained her well and gradually those memories that had slowly taken over every thought and dream were swept up in the glorious happiness I bestowed only on her.

So soon came the time of reason. It seemed to startle us both, reality was cast out and scattered us with the blackened ashes streaming from the volcano we had created together of held emotions and bitter memories.

Just one sentence, a single sentence.

I had sharply chapped the door with three fists full merriness. Entering with a sublime smile that shown through the mask I laid my eyes on a scene I should have long foreseen.

She hadn't changed that morn. A crumpled mess of satin sheets were spread over the sea of clothes from which issued from the open drawers. The woman I had loved with no regret and little remorse for such actions sat with a dress in each hand muttering. "Which to wear today… which to wear today…" Then she looked to me with maddened eyes. I couldn't help but gasp in surprise as wild eyes followed me to the door.

"Christine…" I said softly regaining my confidence as I watched the child hold each dress up high above her golden head. She examined each with the eyes of a rabid dog, wild and menacing in nature.

Silence took over and left us to our own thoughts. Then I said it. I had meant to say it but never brought myself to do it again… not again. Reality had sinked in, Christine had experienced it, why not I?

"I love you."

Even now, even then, even before… I loved her with all I could let my heart support and so much more.

She looked up at me as if she had remembered something strangely pleasant. Spending a minute to recall everything she let out a strange shriek that brought me to my senses.

"Christine…" I was very much hurt by the response.

"Oh! So you love me now, do you?" she spat out from poisoned lips "Well it's a little late is it not? But I'm sure you do not mind that your words are poison! Everything is ruined because of you! Everything!"

I staggered. I had never known this frail creature to possess such madness and strength. I had only seen her like this before and it was around the first time I introduced her to my house. What on earth did she mean?

I had left her there, pondering over her garments in madness. It seemed she had just come to terms that she was actually here, here in my house.

All she had said… everything was burning in my chest. I clutched my shirt as if my heart might just fall from the sheer weight of the torment this enchanting creature had bestowed on me in return for my affections.

Everyone thought me dead, this the Daroga had stated quite clearly by his sudden appearance. I was a nothing, a dead creature… the living death… as I was dead but alive.

Later I returned to find her well dressed and calmly combing her locks absent minded. I had forgiven her for her cruel words. How could I not? She turned her head and opened her lips slightly as if to start something but what ever it was I made sure it didn't mature as for me to hear.

"Would you care for a walk?"

She bobbed her head and took in the corn I had scattered. Fluttering to me with caution she laid a hand on my own which was tearing at my chest. I dared not move it in fear she may tear of my mask or possibly do some harm to me… as she had broken my heart a thousand times over.

"On the shore of the lake?" came the response.

"Well it's a very beautiful night outside…" Which I was later amused at my saying so as I had no idea what the weather was like on the surface world, though it seemed a good month since out first meeting, there would be a full moon to greet us.

She shrank back and her touch was carried away like a sweet whisper. Her serious eyes suddenly whelmed with tears and fears.

"Why do you cry? Erik will be with you." I understood now. She was scared of leaving. For once she was scared of leaving my house. What ever had happened to her it had affected her in such a way that now my temple of music was her only sanctuary.

"Outside…" came the gasp followed by a sob.

"Look." I said rather plainly but sympathetically "Erik will look after you, I will be with you. A simple walk, that is all. I will make sure to miss out any dark alleys." This however left her still unmoved. "And it would do us both some good. You have recovered well." I added remembering grimly my own deteriating health. I was scared to touch her but still I put out my hand for her. She seemed to examine it before taking it timidly. Wrapping herself in her thin shawl she followed me to the surface world.

We were enveloped by the dark night and chills were increased with apprehension as she made our way through cobbled streets. I practically had to drag Christine now and again as she was extremely paranoid and would constantly look behind her. My cloak flourished in the crisp breeze and the moonlight made even the frail wreck beside me who I so loved, look like a beautiful rose. Pearl drops on pale cheeks lit up in the blue light. An orb from which lit the sky with some hope from which we accepted the rays.

Taking a seat on an iron bench, surrounded by darkness we watched as swans slept among the rushes of the lake, the reflection of the moon cast upon the ripples.

In the coldness I watched her shiver and from her sweet words came those poisoned lips I had never expected to hear.

"He is dead."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Regret.

"_He is dead."_

As much as I felt the need to question this statement I was very much shocked. I had held my tongue. There was something very fishy about the situation and the story that would soon unfold. I felt nothing but numb. No joy had been granted on me by the news of the Comte's death, nor any sorrow. It almost seemed too good to be true as well as extremely frustrating. If I had known the boy to die soon after giving him Christine I would never have given her to him. But I had learned that Christine was no object of desire. Since she had left me she was something more. She was everything.

M. Raoul de Changy, of course was my rival but still I felt no happiness from the message I had received. Numb.

I watched the breeze ruffle golden locks as tears streamed. The lights lit in the sky and the stars reflected in her blue eyes, her beauty was great in the moonlight. I dared not question her but merely sat back and looked into the dark, seeing the occasional lamp lit in the distance. Paris was as alive as night as it was day.

So I waited for her to continue her story, my hands clasped on my lap.

It seemed a while before she brought herself to continue. "He is dead." She repeated solemnly "Least he is dead to me and I dead to him."

This was different. This wasn't exactly the same thing as the Comte being dead. Still, I listened in spite of myself.

Mopping up tears with her dainty handkerchief the young woman sighed, "I am certain he is dead. He has been classified missing. I am sure…" she let out a rough sob "Dead oh whoa."

I was extremely curious. I felt no need to comfort her, not till I knew.

"Tell me Christine. Tell me what happened…" and I stopped to glance at the gleaming ring which she took to slender fingers and caressed like a rosary or charm, some holy object of great worth to the soul.

"It began after we left, Erik. Left you. Raoul and I… oh, Erik, as much as I wanted to leave I truly felt the need to stay… well, Raoul, dearest of boys, he took me away to the manor, the Changy estate. You must understand Erik that I had no choice. Never was I given a choice for anything… Well, we arrived and Raoul allowed me to take a guest room. He muttered all sorts of things, complaining about the ring and about you. Of course, he wanted to leave, run far away to Scandinavia but I refused.

They were at him, Erik; the officials thought he killed the last Comte! It would have looked suspicious if we had left… not to mention I had a promise to keep-"

"Which you clearly kept!" I blurted out in the irony of it all. Still, her trembling hands grasped the ring as if she might loose it if she ever let go.

"I never meant to hurt you Erik…" 

"Well! Least you could have given me some dignity in death! Least you could have returned and slipped that ring on my dead finger and have it finished! My death was dedicated to _you!"_

Closing those tear filled eyes she sighed and continued, still grasping the ring whilst pulling the shawl round her shoulders.

"…Raoul proposed we should run away and be done with it all… of course, we would have been Comte and Comtess without the approval of his family but his sister's wouldn't allow him it. I believe they suspected him of murdering Philippe. It was too dangerous. He could have lost his family just because of _me._ I have no one Erik. I suppose you have no one either…

And so it ended. I refused him. He was just a silly boy in love, he deserved better… I cared for him too much to let him do something so careless that one day he would regret… maybe one day in the future when I was old and grey he would loose his love for me…"

It burned. It all burned and as she held her ring, her heart around her ring, I held my own clutching my chest. She still loved him… all was lost… yet still I listened, too weak to move from the heavy object rested in my chest.

"We went our separate ways… I don't know were he is but I hear from rumours we have left for Sweden… Raoul and I. How silly… Raoul has left on a quest of sure suicide… He is across the oceans and shall never returned. He promised me that and I believe him… he is dead."

It seemed that my wretched rival was now dead. It seemed rather amusing that in the end Christine killed us both. I clinged to my chest in pain.

"And the night… tell me of the night… why did you never return to me?"

Opening wide eyes, Christine looked at me in concern. Putting out a hand to comfort me I drew back and hissed. She was very much taken aback and made her way down to her side of the bench, still eyeing me.

"I couldn't return. Not on my own. Raoul had accused me of loving you. He said he would never take me back… I just couldn't. The thought that you might be dead, dead… I have seen enough death. So I kept the ring. To remember…

That night, the night we met, I was making my way to Mama Valérius'. Unescorted. It was purpose of course… I had meant to bleed myself with my scissors and end it all but the thought of never being reunited with my father left me hopelessly clinging on to life. I couldn't take my own… I had killed so much. And so, I knew if I dressed in light colours, if I took a short cut in the alleys… and I was discovered. I had never expected them to try and… oh…"

I let out a hissing laugh, which made her golden head turn round in horror to look into my golden weeping eyes. "What on earth did you expect? Damn your innocence…"

Still she continued "So… if I hurt them, if I struggled and kept struggling I knew they would kill me. I was ready to die. But then… then you came. _You saved me_. And you didn't die. No. You are alive!" She faced me, her eyes filled with gratitude and the lips I so longed for quivered.

"No help from you…" Still, she was warming to me and she took each insult and returned it with much kindness. I damned her for being so angelic… so perfect.

"I do not like to think what happened to them… so many killed… but you are alive… and I am sorry. Forgive me Erik. Forgive me."

And the hate washed away. She had forgiven me and now I forgave her. Her tiny delicate hand rested on the cold metal so close yet so far. And as I took it into my own we looked into each other's eyes. Her own sparkling, mine were filled with tears behind the mask. She had let go of the ring and soon her slender fingers wrapped round my bony hand. Just one moment… then all went dark.

When I roused Christine was by my side. The stench of blood filled me with a sense of forsakenness. Lying on the cold ground I stared up into the stars burning bright above us. I wondered why the stars burned so bright on that night. Maybe it was a sign. Then into my view came the sight of a dark figure. Soon she came into focus clearly and I could just make out the fearful eyes and pout of concern.

"Erik!" she cried. "Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik!!!"

Blasted woman. If only she would have stopped her shouting… after all it would ruin her voice and my ears.

"I am here Christine… I am here…" I coughed loudly, the warm poison dripping down my lips, twisted in agony. The blood streamed down from behind the mask and made it's way to my collar. Before I could say another word she had ripped off the mask, casting it aside on the frozen ground and without even glancing at my face she took off her shawl and started folding it. Propping the material under my head to make a sort of pillow, I looked to her face.

When one lives behind a mask you never see anything for what it really is.

She was more beautiful than I could ever have dreamt. Still that child I had grown to love. But now, there was so much more than beauty and innocence… I loved her for who she was. I loved her. I love her.

Of course, I had expected a horrible reaction from her. She did indeed give me one. To look upon my face without fear would have been too much to ask from that frail creature by my side. She lost all colour but regained herself and said something that shocked me as she wiped the poison from my lips.

"I do not like the sight of blood."

Sorry, this is another rushed one. -- Soooo tired. Forgive any mistakes etc. I shall tend to them soon. –falls asleep-


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: At sunrise

I can't recall the rest of the night but when I woke I found myself in familiar surroundings. It seemed I was on Christine's bed, not in Christine's bed but simply draped over it as if I might have fallen. When opening my eyes I found the black mask was situated on the bedside table. On further examination I discovered a heap of flaxen curls belonging to a slumbering Christine who seemed to kneeling by the bed and had happened to fall asleep, her head on the bed, her arms draped over the spread.

I tried to move but found myself in some pain… my chest ached. I drew a few labouring breaths before groaning, stirring Christine who tipped her head as to look at me in curiosity. Lashes fluttering as she widened her eyes, beginning to wake up her mind.

"Erik… oh Erik, do not move. You are ill." The child pleaded as I had made an attempt for the mask… sadly I missed and ended up knocking over a glass of water. There was a piercing shatter of glass, which left me holding my head while she crawled to pick up the pieces.

"What happened…"? I whispered weakly. "How did I get here…?"

"Hush." She told me as she took the pieces of glass into her delicate lily-white hands. "Do you not remember? You collapsed… oh how you were in pain…"

"Yes… yes… but surely you couldn't have managed to bring me here yourself…" I questioned her.

"That is all taken care of." She informed me as she brushed the glass into her hand. "I never knew you were ill… why did you not tell me? What are you suffering from?"

I looked at the child, ready to throw an insult at her but I was too weak to manage such cruelty. I sighed and whispered. "I suppose it's heart disease… ha… if I went to a doctor they'd say it was heart disease… what poppy cock… everything is heart disease these days…" I let out a hissing cough and grimaced at the blood running from my lips. I had just come to terms that I was without a mask and immediately tried to hide my face.

Christine, who had somehow disposed of the remains of the glass, came to my side and wiped away my pain with a sweet damp handkerchief smelling of tears and late moonlit nights on the streets of Paris.

She didn't threat at my cursed ugliness. She did not startle at my face. And with every kind act I found myself becoming deeper in love with her, quite mad with love. I was a love sick… that was my illness, drat the medical exclamations, I was dieing of love.

Of course, I knew enough of medicine to know I was coming to an end… an end when it had just begun? I didn't have long and none of my silly Persian concoctions were going to be of much use to me then. My fate was sealed with her and my breaking heart. Breaking for I knew she would never be mine… it was impossible. I was incapable of living without her and it was impossible that I could live with her, husband and wife. But least she was there and we were both forgiven.

Then the bedroom door opened and I suddenly realised who had helped Christine and myself. There, at the doorway stood a man with dark skin and brilliant brown eyes. His turban fixed on his hair and dressed in casual clothes. He looked at me with an air of contempt then entered to look at Christine who had risen and slowly made her way out of the room. I tried to call her back but I only started my dreadful coughing and so I was left alone with…

"Daroga." I grimaced as I finally reached my mask and became successful in putting it on my horrid face. He seemed to be glad of it. Of course it wasn't the first time he had the misfortune of seeing my ugliness but that is not to say it didn't revolt or disgust him the lesser. I finally fastened the strap and lay back.

"Erik." He said as he walked closer to my bed looking down at me in such a way that I felt almost ashamed of being in my own house. "Miss Daae." He muttered.

"Oh damn you, Gaubruva, If you must know-" But he rudely interrupted me.

"She told me everything. I must say I was rather surprised to see her at the park…"

"You had been following us…" I growled lowly as he nodded.

"Of course." That damned Persian replied. "Oh and just to tell you, Darrius is here tending to your-"

"You let your wretched friend down here!" I splutted as the Daroga's brown eyes twinkled with some amusment. I must say, I had embaressed myself enough seeing him last time… this was too much.

"Silence yourself." He told me rudely, in such a way that I was taken aback and held my tongue. "Your causing Miss Daae and yourself grief. Throw insults later. Get better-"

"I am dieing, Daroga… I am dieing. But not yet… Did I not tell you? I said I would die, die soon but not yet… Christine… Call her in… Christine!" I cried out blindly.

My old friend nodded and left the room as swiftly as he had entered. The click of the door told me he had left and the gentle rapping told me Christine was entering. She ran to my side, grabbing my ice-cold hands. I was drifting and in so much pain…

Her eyes sparkled with tears as she grasped my bony hand. It was a joy that she should be there, when I was dieing. Her lips kept moving but I could hear no sound… was it just me or was she speechless? I couldn't tell but from her lips I was able to make out the words "Not again." Repeated over and over. I knew what she was meaning. This child had seen death before, first her mother and later her father now myself. I must have been something to her for her to care so. Did she really believe I was that blasted angel of music when all I had shown her was death?

Still, I knew it wouldn't be long, but not then. I wasn't going to die that day. No, I would survive a little longer. But only just.

She stayed with me that night. Christine informed me it was four in the morn, glancing at the watch round her wrist. She held me afraid to let go, in case I might die. Still, I asked for her to sit by me and she obeyed. If it was a last request it was for me to die by her side. Christine lay by me, side by side, holding my hands to give them some warmth.

Everything seemed so cold so dark. Was I fading? It did not feel like life nor death but something in-between. I was conscious but couldn't see. I couldn't taste. I couldn't feel but I did hear. I couldn't hear her breathing softly. She was there. And all faded… and I saw the light of a sunrise so many years ago when I, as a child would watch from my window sill the rising on the golden sun over the field of sunflowers, casting golden rays on yellow petals.

I awoke to find myself lying in a velvet dressed casket; my head lay on a pillow, my arms crossed. I blinked a few times and everything came into focus. There, Christine was sobbing silently, holding a lit candle in her lily-white hands. Standing nearby was a solemn Daroga, holding another candle as was his servant Darrius, looking down at me in sympathy. I realised I was in my own room; Don Juan Triumphant lay on my cold hands. The funeral parlour I had created for my death… but I was alive! I was alive!

I stirred and groaned. Daroga was the first to notice and his brilliant dark eyes dimmed while his Persian skin turned lighter. I had suddenly realised this was my funeral. _My funeral!_

"Wha-" I cried out and all three looked at me. Darius was very much taken aback and staggered while Christine turned ghastly white, wavering.

"**I'M NOT DEAD YET!"** I thundered in an almost squeaky rasp, pulling myself up into a sitting position, resting myself up on the velvet holding my manuscript tightly in my hands.

All three turned to look at each other, the ring gleamed and she held it in her pale hand, quite shocked by it all.

"It appears he is alive," said Daroga as if it was more of a disappointment than a bloody miracle.

Darrius nodded and stuttered "Y-yes." And in return Christine fainted, falling back, the candle rolling over the cold stone floor and extinguishing as it hit the casket. Her golden head hitting the floor with a small "thud" as she lay in a crumpled heap.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Rosary

Half an hour later my party and myself were found in the sitting room. Daroga and myself were sited on shabby over stuffed armchairs, holding our cooling cups in silence. A steaming kettle was held above the crackling fire and ever now and again a small high pitch whistle would penetrate my ears, reminding me of my need to drink. Of course I was dressed with my mask and in the presence of visitors and Christine I wasn't willing to remove it. Sliding back into familiar comfort I now and again cast my golden eyes on the Persian. My old friend was still rather pale and gave me the instinct impression that he was still suffering from my "resurrection".

Darrius, who was kneeling by my poor Christine who was still recovering from her fall, sprawled across a couch, tried to wake her with some smelling salts. She, however, did not stir.

Finally I broke the silence. I knew too well Darrius was trained not to hear so he should not hear this.

"What on earth possessed you?" I exclaimed as the cup shook in my hand, spilling cold tea over my cuffs. I didn't even care if I messed my funeral clothes… though I was very much relieved they hadn't attempted to change me into something more suitable.

The Persian looked up from his tea and opened his mouth once, but stopped himself. After taking a gulp of his cold tea, which I could see in his eyes didn't please him, he announced, "You had been... well, asleep for two days."

Two days! I could hardly believe it! I placed my cup down on a nearby table, spilling it ever where and turned to look at the sleeping beauty whose pale face caused me pain and tear stained cheeks caused me sorrow.

"How did she take it?" I asked quietly while Darrius made a second attempt to revive Christine, his dark hands holding the bottle under her nostrils in a vain attempt to get some reaction or other.

Daroga looked straight at me, as if he was ashamed to admit it "She took it terribly." This made me smile behind the mask, my eyes softening in my loving gaze. "Erik, I do not know what happened between the Comte and Miss Daae but I presume it has had some affect on her views on you…" He let out a sigh of defeat "When she found you, limp as a shilna fish, in the morn she became quite ill. She stayed by your side for a good part of the day, refusing to believe you dead. I was rather surprised myself, especially after what you said before… as you can see, you've made her suffer."

"Well it wasn't exactly deliberate." I retorted. "How was I to know I'd go into a state of a coma? Did even bother to check my pulse?" I pointed my skeletal finger under the dim light of the fire at the stupefied Persian.

"Well of course we did." He muttered thought there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"_We?"_ I questioned while I attended to my tea stained cuff. I really did need to refresh and change my clothes. After all, I had apparently been in them for three days. Not exactly fitting for a musical genius to be an unclean one.

"Err… look, we checked but you must have had a very distant and slow heart beat," he muttered while twiddling his dark thumbs in uncertainty.

Of course, everything had seemed so much clearer at that point. I would have been buried by a bunch of idiots. One an unstable wreck refusing to believe me dead (at least on of them had some sense), an idiotic ex Daroga and an idiotic friend of an ex Daroga. Charming combination.

I was about to say something extremely witty and offensive but I was silenced by the soft groan coming from a certain lady whom I had now, a great deal more respect in than I had before. Even in my death she had refused to leave me… she was indeed more loyal than I had expected. Then again, was it not me who had turned her away? Was it not me who had to convince her to leave me, mostly out of force?

Darrius let out an untranslatable mutter of Persian as she opened her brilliant blue eyes again. Her pale lips trembled as her eyes focused and lay on me. I smiled behind the mask, but of course she wouldn't be able to see those grim twisted lips show terrible yellow stained teeth, much like a skull's smile. A corpse's smile…

Lifting her head she examined me for little more than a minute in pure silence. I couldn't tell what Daroga was doing but I was sure he was looking at both of us in silent confusion. She slowly uttered a sigh then said "Oh… you're alive…" in surprised relief, resting her pretty head on a velvet cushion.

I simply nodded my head. I wasn't exactly feeling the best… groggy and rather manic. My body, a corpse, seemed to have a marvellous immune system that did it's best to embarrass myself in front of visitors.

She had been rather blunt but I still watched her with a newfound respect. So she _did_ care… then again, it was too early to get carried away. I had a talent of doing that.

Darrius helped the girl up, propping her head against his straggly shoulders. After finding her balance, Christine simply exited the room without another word. I was taken aback and hurt by these actions… apparently I didn't matter at all. It wasn't kindness, it must have been horror. She would have been glad to see the back of me.

After having a dull conversation with the Persian, watching his manservant carry away all _my_ crockery to the kitchen like a maid, I was becoming restless to change. I wanted to feel fresh, I wanted to wash my horrid face and wear something more comfortable. It was lucky I didn't get bedsores having been in the same position for little more than two days. We had talked of the sleeping arrangements. Of course, I would have murdered Daroga on the spot if he had left Christine with a man in a coma for two days. I would have also murdered him if he stayed. Apparently Darrius had stayed the night under strict instructions to obey Christine, sleeping on the couch. I wasn't at all amused but least he had kept his distance, Daroga returning all day and making arrangements at night.

I made my excuses and left to change. It was glorious, the warm water flowing into my hideous hands, the pureness of it. The beauty. I had always admired water… it was a pity it had to be drunk.

Although it was extremely rude and quite out of character for me to creep into Christine's room like fox in the coop, I couldn't help but pass the door and open it… only a little, just to see her. She hadn't locked it and there was no one in sight, it was quite safe to have a little peek. Just a little one…

I peered through the darkness and made out the sleeping beauty, wrapped, fully dressed in a sheet, lying on the floor. It seemed she had either preferred the cold floor to the bed, which was unlikely, or she had simply fallen into an exhausted heap.

All the same, I couldn't help but approach. Of course, I made no noise as I casually walked through the darkness and kneeled by her side. Out of impulse I caressed a golden lock which hid her delicate face and cast it aside, ever so gently to reveal her pleasant features in there child like expression of tranquillity and peace.

It was a sin to move her, but I had to remember she was still the patient even though I had done enough to earn that title a hundred times over. Christine was not as light as she seemed, you would have thought from her air of walking, her elegant liquid steps, or strides depending on her reasons, could be so… almost human. Just like a child, a sleeping child… or better yet a dead child. Limp and silent, her physical weight wasn't what bothered me; it was the weight that pulled my heartstrings that bothered me. I, of course, wasn't at all in good health but I was just able to have her lay in my arms, a lily white hand dangling from the slumbering heap, clutching a trailing sheet as I rested her on the bed. As much as I wished to stay I had visitors to attend to and get rid of.

As I turned to leave, her sweet scent of crushes petals lingering on my evening attire, I heard a small whimper followed by a call of my name. Turning I found my angelic darling, arms outstretched as if she was hoping for someone to pull her up, maybe some hovering apparition to take her to St. Peter's gates.

"Holy angel in heaven blessed…" she whispered, lids shut "…my spirit longs with thee to rest…"

I was just able to make out a pearl drop tear roll down her pale cheek. Her arms still outstretched. The child must have been dreaming… but I knew the importance of those words. I was perfectionist… the right line and BAM Christine Daae was gone from stage! An uproar from the crowd and the injection of ecstasy from her struggles while I held the damp cloth to her…

But I hadn't expected her to be at all affected by that line. I walked over to her and with trembling hands, took her cold hands into my own. How cold! I wasn't one for being the "warmest" of fellows but even to me her touch was cold. As soon as I took her hands into mine, her arms dropped and I was left holding her limp arms.

"Goodnight Christine…" I made sure to wrap her well in the sheets, wiping that cold tear from her chin. I stroked her cheeks, just a brush, nothing more. I couldn't control myself when she was near. It was as if she was in control but completely unaware of it.

Still, I had to return to my guests… no doubt Daroga would run in accusing me of the worst of crimes, standing over the child's bed. How dead she looked! I took into detailed account how very pale she had grown and how-

"Damn it." I had growled as I made out small swelling patch on my angel's sheets. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I had wondered if we would ever be free of this game. One of us falls ill, the other heals, and then the healer falls ill so on so forth. The game was toying with my nerves… had I not noticed?

And there, were I had missed, lying on the chamber floor was a rosary, the tip of the cross-dipped in dark congealed blood. There was a little trail, almost like a circle, of blood splatters… that was when I knew; this would be a long night.

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So tired but I reckoned I hadn't done this in a while… so here we go. Tenth chapter. Yet again we have the clique doctor/patient thing going on… which I tell you, is getting on my nerves. Oh well. There are MORE dramatic scenes coming up in our next chapters, all very depressing, romantic and … dramatic?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Melodrama

How on earth can you pierce yourself with a cross? It seemed almost too cult like for Christine to attempt. I later discovered the little terror had ripped out her stitches, which had been healing neatly. I was so incredibly angry with her that I was now on the brink of attempting to kill either one of us. I had had enough. That was it. Finished.

She must have hated me, loathed me! I had thought her to do it as I means of escape from this horrid monster you kept her prisoner under the Garnier Opera house, locked in her dank cell which I had lined with tokens of affection. How could she! I had asked myself this so many times… yet there was something at the back of my mind, niggling, which told me that I was not completely correct. Had she not said her piece I believe I would have done her greater damage.

"Wretched girl!" I cried as I ripped the sheets away, a small patch on her side were she had once been stabbed. Christine was still asleep it appeared, falling into unconsciousness. I shook her but she didn't stir. In a second of blinding rage I struck her across her left cheek. The frightened child looked up at me whilst I held the collar of her nightgown, trying to pull her to my eye level.

It seemed to take her a while to respond to my act of violence, which seemed to frighten me. It was so unreal… like slapping an angel. Eventually she let out a blood-curling scream and started rolling around like a wounded dog, clawing at my hands. Her nails drew blood but I took no notice, I didn't care! Reality had sunk in and I was readily prepared to drag her from the bed, which I did, pulling her from her golden locks I dragged her from her sheets onto the cold stone floor were she sobbed and gasped.

I felt no remorse, not yet. "You horrid- you! Why did you do it? Hmm? Christine, why did you do it? Hmm?"

The child on the brinks of hysterics looked up at me in fear, eyes watering. "What…?" she whimpered but she answered the question herself with a scream. It seemed she had just noticed the blood. There was a worse reaction from this than the slap. She started screaming, raving and trying her best to crawl from my grip, but I had her hair. Christine clawed away, wriggling and kicking.

It didn't take long till there was an echo of footsteps, which rushed through the door, switching the light on revealing the sons of Persia. Daroga looked utterly horrified while Darrius stood mouth gaped open.

"Release Miss Daae!" Cried the Daroga as he made an attempt to approach but I didn't grant him it. He held her up from her hair; she was limp now, muttering about the blood. Tears trickled down her burning cheek, cooling the pain.

"She just tried to commit suicide!" I cried as I released my grip on her. There was a horrible thud as her skull hit off the stone floor, the rest of her body draped over a Persian carpet.

"What?" cried the Persian but I wasn't having it. I couldn't take it any longer. In rage I pratically ran at the Persians, who in return turned and ran. It was like a childish game of "hide and seek" gone terribly wrong. I tricked them into taking a secret passage, which lead them to the streets of Paris. Simple really, I pulled a lever and suddenly the pair would be lead to Paris in all its glory.

I knew it wasn't over but at least I had gotten rid of them. I had felt fairly inclined to kill them but I was merciful… I had Christine to present all my hatred and anger to. I was planning to make her pay for her crimes… how could she! How could she kill herself now? I couldn't understand it… but was she trying to kill herself? And why?

It didn't matter; poor unhappy Erik was too blind to see the truth. I ran to her chamber, throwing open the door. Gasping for air as I made out the young woman crawling under the bed like a child. A child! I was so angered that I grabbed her foot and pulled her out from under her shelter. She fretted at my sight… it was lucky I had the mask on or she might have seen my grin but there was something in her eyes which told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Thought you could leave Erik, my dear? Did you…?" I said hastily as I pulled her up, though she was reluctant to it, and reeled her in. "No one can hear you now my dear… no one is here but Erik? Is that such a bad thing?"

Christine was silent in response. All I could hear was her wild breathing as I held her arms behind her back. She didn't even struggle. I could even hear her little heart fluttering. So beautiful… so pure… but would she be so pure covered in blood?

Such a horrid thought… but as much as I could do, as capable as I was I had no intentions of doing so. I wanted her well. I wanted her alive to hold… whether she gave consent or not.

I stopped my hissing, filled with emotion I whispered softly in her ear "Why?"

She denied doing wrong but I corrected her telling her that she made an attempt on her life and I wasn't having it. "Remember last time my dear? Your pretty little forehead? Why don't I tie you to a chair, like old times and tend to your wound?"

The child flinched and suddenly the frail creature let out kick which hit me square on the knee. Staggering, I watched as the woman ran from the room. I had said something to offend obviously… god. There was a trail of blood. I imagined it wouldn't be too hard to find her. I hobbled along, rather impressed by the woman's strength and followed the horrid path of bloodied floor.

I eventually found her clawing at the fireplace like a mad woman. I had calmed down and was now taking in all of my past actions. I felt a twang of remorse as I watched the blood stained child fight away at the wall, searching for some hidden lever or button.

"Stay still, Christine." I countered, "Your loosing quite a bit of blood… see, you might die after a while if you keep it up." She completely ignored me and after crying out in defeat she faced me. He eyes reflecting the inner terror.

"I didn't do it!" she screamed as if she was taking the blame for spilling the milk or smashing a plate. It was so childish, in moments like this Christine could either be extremely rational or in cases like this, terribly irrational and immature.

What on earth did she mean by that… oh I was such a fool? Had she not been sleep walking? Talking in her sleep and now and again making actions… was she capable of hurting herself without knowing. It seemed too terribly obvious. I had created all this fuss over nothing… not to mention she was scared of me now, I could see it in her eyes. I didn't want her to be scared… I just thought…

"I believe you. I'm sorry." I said lightly as if nothing had happened, Christine however was still terribly wary. I gestured for her to come forward but she refused. Eventually I lost my patience and forced her to a chair were I ripped her nightgown to check the wound. I even let her breath from my cloth... She wasn't at all happy, crying out and letting out an annoying scream, which I would simply answer with "You'll ruin your voice…" Of course… I could make out her flesh… her fair skin but I completely stuck to the job in a professional manner and after bandaging her wound she looked fairly descant.

After tending to her wounds, I became suddenly aware that I wasn't feeling well at all… I needed rest but I wasn't going to leave that child alone to do further damage to her and possibly myself. I grimaced to think what she might do next. If a blunt cross did damage then I hated to think what that wretched ring round her swan-like neck might do… possibly choke her?

I realised I had ruined it all. Our bond of trust, if you could call it that, was ruined. She was too frightened and I… I couldn't stand it. It was all too much to cope with. I broke down into a fit of sobs and did my best to sit my skinny body down on a chaise…

Of course, it wasn't long before the dear approached me, her heart full of pity. Pity… was I only ever to received pity? I wanted to control her… I wanted her so badly; didn't she see that pity wasn't enough? I would have sold my soul to the devil for her, like Dr. Faustus, I would do anything for the woman I loved if only I could possess her. Still, she comforted me with soothing words; gradually she summoned the courage to lay a hand on my shoulder.

An hour later I was cradling her in my arms, amazed at how forgiving she was. The lamb… so loyal. I don't know what she was thinking of… trying to kill her but there was still something different… something at the back of my mind, almost like a warning, but what?

Oh what a melodrama…

I picked her up, the sleeping child and took her to her chamber were I lay her down on the bed. Consequently I lay down next to her… was it such a sin? I was fully dressed and she hardly dressed at all. I pulled the covers over her, the sheets draped over her, hugging her slender figure. I was too tired to do much else than kick of my shoes and lay spread across the bed. Only when a little hand clutched on to my index finger did I really find reason to fall asleep… and in sleep I dreamt.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: My Nightingale

Christine's P.O.V

I awoke to find Erik next to me, sprawled over the bed like a wounded crow, covered in black and still… so still. The night was all a blur but I could still remember small parts… the blood! Oh how shocked I was, thinking it all a dream but corrected by my newly bandaged side.

When we found Erik dead we were shocked but I believe none were as shocked as I. Daroga and Darrius were very helpful and considerate but I simply couldn't believe it. I had killed him! It was my doing. All that Christine Daae desired was sweet death… I had even decided to rejoin Erik that day. Just a cut, that was all it took, and I would be sleeping next to him for eternity. But Erik was in fact alive! Alive! I could hardly believe it. So unreal… but Erik was a genius! An amazing man, possibly even _he_ could cheat death.

He was very still, but every now and again his chest would rise and fall. I wasn't sure what to do… I was still terrified of him and now he was lying next to me on my bed… still, I didn't remember anything at all sinful. I didn't even remember being taken to bed.

I lay for a while, simply staring at him. It seemed my hand was wrapped round his skeletal finger. So cold! I wanted to let go but I knew to well it would wake him and by no means did I want to wake him. Let him rest…

I had mixed feelings on it all. One part of me was exhilarated that he was resting next to me… so peaceful. Another part of me wanted to run. I couldn't understand these feelings so I took them for fear. Yes, fear. Still I didn't feel all together fearful.

Guilt! Wretched guilt. My poor adopted mother would be worried sick… then again I did doubt it. She was old, so very old and couldn't remember a thing. It was horrible sitting next to her and hearing her rants on about my "angel" and even start arranging dates with her on the day we should be wed. "Wed to an angel!" she would exclaim while I'd feed her soup "You will have your own seat next to virgin Maria!"

I would have to see her soon… but how? I had a feeling Erik wasn't going to be at all agreeable to this proposal but he surely couldn't stop me from seeing what family I had claimed… could he?

I had been staring at him and thinking for some time but never did I realise that his golden eyes were fixed on my own, I hadn't notice him waking.

Shocked, my eyes widened in discomfort. He saw my embarrassment and softly, in a pur he said "Good morning, Christine."

He almost examined me; I felt his burning eyes on my fair skin. I simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, leaving not traces of my existence. He seemed to understand my fear of him being there and said "Forgive me, Christine, for intruding like this… I don't know what came over me." He raised a hand to his masked brow and his eyes vanished, leaving just blackness were those golden lights should have been. He, like myself, wasn't at all in good health. He made a gesture to get up, and move along, so he attempted to prop himself up but I stopped him.

"Don't go." I said in such a childish manner that I later scolded myself for it. "I don't want to be left alone."

It was true, I didn't. I couldn't bear it. All I wanted was for they're to some human contact from someone, even if it was a man who had attempted to do the worse to me that night. Had I really hurt myself? I couldn't remember doing it… all I remember is Erik telling me so.

"If you wish." It sounded as if he was quite taken aback by the proposal though he looked glad of it. I could tell as his golden eyes were sparkling like they usually do when he is playing music, singing or happy with something or other. I had always taken note of it seeing as it is rather difficult to see the expression of a masked man.

He simply stared at me, which was making me gradually tense and slightly paranoid. What on earth was he thinking? I needed to start a conversation… but I knew I couldn't avoid what had happened.

"Are you alright now?" I asked while pulling the sheets round myself for some protection against his burning gaze. "I don't remember much but I think you were ill."

It seemed he was relieved I couldn't remember, I on the other hand had become rather upset with it all. What had I said or done? What had _he _said or done? I simply couldn't recall.

"I am better. You do not remember last night then?" he queried. I told him I didn't and he let out a sigh of relief. He then asked me what I did remember and I said I simply remembered blood and him being ill. He nodded and told me that was exactly what had happened and the rest of it was to be forgot.

He inquired on my own health and I told him I felt fine. We then made small talk for half an hour or so on simple things, like the weather or I would let him rant about the most random of things. On that particular morning he was talking about nightgowns, saying I needed a new supply. I agreed… It seemed most of mine were ruined. He asked me on what material and we simply talked about lace, silk and satin then moving on to cotton etc. etc.

After a while I thought it would make perfect sense to tell him that I was very much relieved he was alive "…I thought you dead but now you are alive? How so?"

This he didn't answer but repaid it with a rather passionate look. I was terrified. I had seen him like this before and it didn't exactly bring back happy memories… and he was in my room! On my bed! I wasn't certain what he was hinting on but I made sure not to open my heart out to him… especially while he was in my room. He had become quite mad with love for me before.

He even attempted to remove his mask in which I allowed him to do so. Oh the horror! He seems just like a man, a normal man but when he removes his mask he looks that of a dead one.

I of course was a little repulsed at first but you get used to it after a while though it never really looses the sickening feeling it gives you when you first lay eyes on it. Oh horror!

Erik was doing this on purpose, a little test on his part. He had a horrid grin on his face. Before I could make a remark on it, he left my side and made his way to his door were he informed to get dressed and dinner would be served in half an hour.

Erik's P.O.V

I was over joyed! She didn't remember a thing of last night and was as loyal as ever. I wanted to hold her so badly, just to hold her innocently and show her my affections but I knew too well that wouldn't be a terribly considerate or easy thing to do.

I even sang while setting out the plates and serving the breakfast for two. Oh joy! She didn't mind my face… maybe I could even eat in front of her! Fancy that! Would she allow me it? Usually I would sit and wait for her to finish before I even touched my own… but I wasn't one to care for food but I had a feeling I should eat today. It was a happy occasion.

When she arrived at the dinner table, dressed in a rose dress I had picked with the greatest care for her, she sat herself down. I could see she was staring at my face… no, I didn't think I would eat breakfast with her that day. I reached out to take my mask but she stopped me, saying it was fine. Everything was fine.

I watched her eat, so elegantly and refined. Just like a lady! My little lady!

Christine's P.O.V

Oh, it was silly of me to grant him the right to eat before me but I was tired of treating him like a toy at my disposal. I didn't want to have to say if it was all right or if it wasn't', especially in the case of breakfast.

He seemed overwhelmed; almost ready to cry when I asked him why he wasn't eating. Instead, his golden eyes watched me with that respected passion… oh no. He was doing it again… I didn't want him to but he was falling madly in love with me all over again.

I watched him take a spoon to his twisted lips and with much effort, almost disgusted at him, he swallowed his food and neatly placed the spoon on his plate. That was all it took for him to love me.

He told me today would be a day when we could rest, music was not an option… he told me he had no need of it today and tomorrow he would go shopping. I asked if I could go with him, not wanting to be left alone. He agreed to this.

Erik's P.O.V

The day passed by quickly, too quickly. All we did was stay in the sitting room, while I told my cherub stories from an old book. She was so loyal! Staying by my side, hanging on my every word with looks of complete obedience. I enjoyed reading to her. I told her a few Persian tales but she wouldn't exactly please with them. It seemed they were too grim and gory for her refined tastes. Instead I told her of the Emperor and the nightingale… it seemed to have deep meaning to both of us.

"_So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist. _

"_Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?" _

"_You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again."_

And when night came my sweet Christine drifted to sleep, lying on the Persian carpet by the crackling fire. I let her sleep and resting a blanket on her tiny I read the rest of the book to myself.

_I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it." So saying, the nightingale flew away. _

_The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "Good morning." _


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen: How I Hate Strays

"Oh, please, Erik, we can't let him stay here!"

"Well he is a lousy thief. A ten year old could do better."

"But, Erik, he must be around ten."

"Then he is an even lousier thief than I first thought."

We stood in a shadowed alley, the soft light streaming over the tops of the high houses, towering above us. There we stood, Christine tapping her dainty foot across the cool cobbles while I stood over her, a cane in one hand, a boy's ear in the other. I had him just high enough so that he was on tiptoes, struggling to keep up, almost impossible for him to get free.

"Erik, look at him… he looks like he has eaten naught for months!"

I looked down on the child. He was rather gaunt… looked slightly like myself at that age… though; he had a rather nicer nose. He was quite a bit smaller too, and the horrid boy's eyes seemed to reflect something savage. As for his face he looked quite old, greasy brown hair mopped over a dirty forehead. If I didn't know better I'd say he was a midget.

"Well, I dare say he eats like a King. I do not see why you take such interest in this one; after all there are thousands of children starving in Paris… I'm sure you might find yourself a more able and attractive child to play with." Said I, as the child attempted to lash out. Luckily I grabbed his wrist before he could do anything about it… tightening my grip ever so slowly, feeling the boy yield to pain. He yelped now and again… that was the most fun of it.

"Erik, do not hold him so!" Christine tried to get involved, a pair of lily-white hands attached themselves to the boy's shoulders. Heaving a sigh I let go. I was rather enjoying having someone to "play" with but obviously Christine didn't see it as suitable.

She held the child under her bosom, holding that revoltingly disgusting child close to her bodice, stroking his oily matter hair with prim fingers. I was surprised to see the child not struggling but instead clinging onto her sleeve. I admit feeling green… the hot jealously taking over me. I took a deep breath of air and muttered.

"So we have a mother's boy. How quaint. You should learn to do without." I made a large grin; I knew it must have been horrible, with such beautiful teeth as mine. My fake moustache tickled my "nose" making me even more irritable.

Christine saw right through me and scowled. I admit that woman was becoming very much like a wife. She had even mastered manipulating me and I knew how she did it… just as all women do. She knew my love.

"Well, if you shan't take him. I shall. And we shall go to live with mama." Her clear blue eyes turned to slits. I grunted like a foul beast I am and gave the child another horrid look. He became quite startled, quite ready to run but Christine held him firmly.

"Christine… does not mock me. You know EXACTLY what I would do if you so much as considered walking away. Do not try me." I growled softly. She flinched slightly, but as I had suspected she stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes now filled with a brave fear.

I sighed. It was going to cause lots of problems. I'd have to blindfold the boy… take him down… then keep him there. It was just silly. Not to mention he was obviously lacking in talent. The way he had harassed Christine was quite enough to put me off. He had pratically ripped off the watch, leaving a horrible red mark on her wrist. Of course, I was quite close to killing him… I dragged him into an alley… but of course, forgiving Christine had other plans.

"It's quite impractical. I've had enough of Daroga and his idiotic servant… and I've had enough of your behaviour… and I've just bought you ten dresses, Christine. Why would you want this boy?"

Christine, her flaxen waves blew in the wind, simply said, "I want him." The boy looked up to her in gratitude. Like a loyal dog. That was my role… I wouldn't let some street urchin take it. I didn't understand it. Christine had been a completely different person that day. She had been such an angel and suddenly she was acting like some spoilt child. She refused every dress and snapped now and again when I asked her how she was feeling or what was wrong. There was obviously something on her mind… and as much as I would tolerate it I wasn't going to have her taking advantage of every situation. If a boy would make her happy… I'd let her have him.

After all… I'd do everything for our happiness.

"Well we shall need to buy clothes for your mongrel pup." With this I walked down the alley, my cane clicking on the stone as my cloak flourished in the wind. I could just see the clear blue sky peeking through the heavy clouds. Both children smiled.

I was not amused.

AHHHHGH!!! How horrible this is but I had to pick up the story Dx Kill me if you like. This was god awful.


	14. Chapter 14

**_It my birthday very soon so this shall be the last time I do an entry as a 14 year old. This will be terribly inaccurate seeing as I've never been to Paris Dx Excuse the shortness._**

_Chapter Fourteen: La Magdalene_

The light streamed through panelled windows, filling the temple with a sweet serenity, the faithful worshippers basking in the morning haze. The candles were lit, pointlessly as many town dressed worshippers, picked right out of the streets of central Paris made about their daily prayers.

The many rowed columns were a remainder that Paris' beginnings were of Rome. The columns casting shadows in which few stood and marvelled over the splendid of such a holy place. Behind the columns stood two figures, talking in hushed voices.

"You know, it would have been much easier from my point of view if we had gone to Notre Dame. Much nicer not to mention…" said a figure dressed in strange clothing, his dark face cast in the shadows. What he held in his hand was a bronze grasshopper… in the other's hand a scorpion.

"I like it here." Said the other man, cloaked in the darkness as if he welcomed it. What looked like a pair of cat eyes, shapeless and bright gleamed in the black. "It reminds me…" the figure paused, fingering the cold metal "…You know too well I couldn't travel to Notre Dame, and I don't see why I have to travel when it is you who wants to see me!"

"My health is not at its best." Said the other man, his voice deep and warming to the cold surroundings "But then again… nor is yours… is it?"

There was a shift in the darkness; the other figure seemed to sway slightly… backing away, his back against the smooth tower of stone.

"I am well enough. Now get to the point, Daroga. I am in no mood to leave Christine.. . Especially with that child…"

"I am here on account of Miss Daae and the child, Pip Turner." Said the Daroga, his soft brown eyes sparkling as the golden ones flickered.

"You mean to say you are inquiring on that stray pup and my Christine?" said the voice, cold yet pleasant. It left all who heard addictive to every word yet the feeling arose of one being poring over with a bucket of icy cold water.

The Persian flinched slightly but remained calm and in a low voice said "Your Christine? Have you forgotten or should I remind you? She is betrothed to the Comte de-"

"Was." Interrupted the stranger "For now she is mine." He growled softly in return. A hand vanished and soon appeared to a paper mache nose and moustache.

"Erik… I know you're up to something. I can tell. You're planning on doing it again, aren't you? You want to make things how it was? You want Christine on stage and you want her wed to you! I can tell. You're going to do it all over again." whispered the Persian's voice softly as he lowered his eyes.

"Stay out of this Daroga or you may get a nasty sting."

As the Persian raised his amazingly bright eyes only to find himself faced with emptiness. Sighing, he stood tall and looked around the church la Magdalene. Sweet insane revived memories of Persia and the cold building made him think back to one of Erik's palaces in progress. Simply get grand.

Suddenly he felt something heavy in his pocket, digging into his leg. Placing a hand into his coat he removed a bronze scorpion, a scorpion and grasshopper in each hand. Another sigh escaped his dark lips. He weighed them equally in both of his hands, staring at the Japanese bronze, polished brightly and reflecting his own sparkling eyes.

"When will you learn Erik?" said he "When will you learn not to meddle with the past?"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Pip Turner

He sat there. Scoffing down bread butter. Licking every crumb from his plate. Grabbing cheeses and sausages. His gluttony made me sick. How could a child eat so much? And just to spite me he drank two whole bowls of Christine's delicious soup and just to spite me ended it all in being sick. And my queen, my beautiful Christine kneeling, a pail of water and a scrubbing brush. Then off to bed he went, tucked into her bed for she decided it best she slept on the sofa. Her bed! My mother's bed! That little wretch, resting his stupid mindless head on goose feather pillows, pulling the rich Egyptian cotton round his swarthy face.

"Oh, it's only a little while." She said, "Only a little while and we can go and find his family." So she said. I had to drag the little idiot all the way down I wasn't looking forward to having to drag him up. Better drown him in the lake and be done with him. Course Christine wouldn't have any of that. The Daroga nagging. If he were not my friend I'd think of killing him again… not that friendship stopped me from throwing him in my torture chamber.

Well I had created something far better. Oh indeed. 27 metres long, 19 wide and I had created my maze. A maze I tell you! Completely of mirrors! What a plan. And of course, my maze of mirrors was by far the easiest of my creations yet. Course, I hadn't finished it but only started. The materials were hard to get a hold of considering Christine was always in the house. And that measly mutt. And I knew too well the consequences of drugging her. I wasn't about to have her stabbing herself with crosses was I? Oh that would be fun indeed! My little Christine a patchwork quilt… I think not.

Talking of quilts she had started knitting! Goodness. She had made me another scarf, a red one, which was quite, handsome in it's own way, I suppose… and knitted that wretched boy several hats and mitts. He looked like something out of Dickens. "Dickens?" she questioned. "You have not heard of Dickens my dear? Why I had first hoped I hadn't but there are advantages in reading ORPHAN stories."

"I'm not an orphan." He muttered, his beady eyes rolling as he lapped up his stew. I sat at the dinner table, eating naught while Christine nervously ate in silence again. I could understand how strange this was for her. It was horrible for me. That little wretch.

"Well you could have fooled me Mr Twist!" I snarled coolly. He retorted, "I'm called Pip!" In reply I grimaced "You really are out of Dickens. Stealing watches… oh wait, I mean attempting!" Course we had all heard his sob story. The poor father, forced to move from London to Paris to make his fortune at sea. His mother who died of illness. The "good lady" off with his mother's last shillings and threw him out like a beggar. Christine had weeped when she heard it, how he saw the golden watch glittering in the sun… how he wanted it so badly, to travel to sea and find his father.

"I'm called Pip Turner!" he cried out as Christine took his hand and gave me a look of disappointment. "Of course you are dear… do not be vexed. He does not mean it." Course she knew too well I meant it… that little urchin clinging to her as if she was his mother. How old was he? Eight? He wasn't in need of a mother now. Try telling that to my Scandinavian maiden… rocking him, singing lullabies. He looked presentable now. Dressed suitably, playing with his tin soldiers. Utter idiot. I tried explaining to him the plans of the Opera House but he couldn't grasp it. Said it was too difficult. When we first brought him he got extremely scared. Didn't like the blindfold, lashed out. Little stray got a clipped ear.

One week was all he needed to take over. Looking at the pearl ship with greedy eyes. My mother's pearl ship! "Pip" once reached out to touch it… wasn't expecting me to be pretty nifty with traps. Cut his finger. Cried out to Christine like a cuckoo. He is a cuckoo. Wrecking my nest. Says he cut his finger on something trying to touch it. Naturally she butters him in sweet words and scorns him lightly for touching things. Little idiot did not know what was coming to him. I removed the wire later on.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his neck stretched out as he examined my plans. A little grin as he reached out to remove the mask. Five minutes later Christine entered my chamber to find parchment spread all over the chamber and a scratching noise coming from the coffin. Sitting upon the closed coffin I smiled behind my mask (which I had managed to keep on) kicking my legs against my bed. "It's such a lovely day. I think it may rain soon. Let's make use of the weather now and go for a nice walk along the shore. Ah. You hear that scratching. Why it's only a mouse Christine… or possibly a rat. Let it be. I'm sure it shall run out of air soon enough."


End file.
